Estel
by Mirrordance
Summary: Legolas faces the dire consequences of practicing forbidden magic to resurrect Aragorn
1. Default Chapter

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Estel

Summary: Legolas deals with the dire consequences of practicing forbidden magic to save the life of Aragorn

Warnings: death & drama

**PART 1: Legolas**

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CHAPTER 1: Awaiting Death 

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_      "Witches, witches in the night…"_

      The chant was hypnotic, the voices of the young children from the town laughing and screaming it over and over as they ran and played their tireless game.  The careless youth of it, with its crazy wishes, was as soothing as the beating of a heart, and of the clacking hooves of this lonely traveler's horse's gait.

_      "Evil eyes shining bright…"_

      Legolas knew this game well, for it has changed little since he too was a young boy.  One child played Death, one child played the Witch, and the others ran from Death in a wild screech of hands and bodies.  Anyone whom Death touched would lie on the ground, until he is revived by the Witch by a touch of the hand, and the running and dying would start all over again.

      _"Free the sins from inside your head--"_

The game was suddenly cut short by an older woman shouting for the children to keep quiet, and beware their wishes.  The elders would always say that the witches might hear the children and grant their wish.  But the fear of these threats only added to the excitement of the game, and it never stopped the children from playing it over and over.  Legolas certainly never let the fear stop him, when he was young.  And though the children have stopped the game to appease the older woman for now, Legolas has played the game in his youth often enough to know the last part of the chant by heart:

_      "Watch the living, raise the dead."_

      The night was suddenly quiet again, as he focused on his journey.  The house of the King was nearing the distance, and he was eager to see his old friend once again.  He much preferred their meeting to be under better circumstances, but any time he could steal himself away from the duties in his own kingdom, and Aragorn from his, was opportunity enough for him.

      ~I hope you do not mind,~ he whispered to his horse's ear in his native tongue, ~We run the rest of this journey.~

      The horse neighed and picked up its pace, Legolas never having needed to pull on his reins.  

* * *

      "Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, milady," the majordomo announced quietly, as Legolas was ushered into the quiet study.  A pensive Arwen had her back to them, as she stared outside the window of the room.  The majordomo came and went without her acknowledgement, leaving the two elves alone.

      "I understand your worry," said Legolas after a moment, "But Eldarion is Aragorn's son.  He is at least half as stubborn as his father to yield to this affliction, not to mention the fact that he is your son as well, and you are of an even more stubborn disposition than the father."

      He had hoped to coax a smile out of her, and yet she kept her back to him.

      "Arwen…" he said softly, helplessly, "My father sent me here, bearing gifts from Mirkwood.  Herbs and medicines of all kinds.  Perhaps they may be of some use."

      She turned at last to face him, and her beauty still refused to be overcast by the grief in her eyes.

      ~They will not be of any help,~ she said softly in Elvish, ~We have tried them all.  And 'tis not Eldarion who is ill.~

      Legolas looked at her in confusion.  ~I'm sorry.  Father had said this is so, and I've heard from the surrounding kingdoms that Aragorn's son is ill.~

      Arwen shook her head.  ~Eldarion is well,~ she said, ~It is Aragorn who is fading fast from us.~

      The news made Legolas's heart stop.  ~This cannot be.~

      "I was warned that such parting would be harsh," Arwen said shakily, "I knew not how harsh 'til now."

      Legolas looked away from her.  ~This land is not ready to lose its King,~ he whispered, envisioning the chaos that would follow Aragorn's death.  The security in the land, following the devastating evil of Sauron, was new and fleeting.  It was by Aragorn's presence, his strength, the trust created by the very mention of his name, that peace and prosperity was kept.  His death would throw the newfound order in disarray, what with his heir so young, his revived kingdom not-yet so deeply founded.

      "This is why," said Arwen, her thoughts running along the same course as the other elf's, "We have said instead that it was Eldarion who was ill, and have claimed that the King has been indisposed as he tended his son."

      "One could not keep up this charade forever," said Legolas gravely, his brows furrowing, "What have the healers said?"

      "He is hanging by a thread," replied Arwen, "A strange disease that no herb can cure."

      "Is it a poison?" asked Legolas, "a curse? A spell—"

      "No," said Arwen, "It is a disease that afflicts humans.  A growth, of some sort, inside him.  The healers have encountered it a few times before.  Those who fall prey to it die in great pain."

      Legolas shook his head in dismay, stared out the window she had been looking out of but moments before.  Aragorn was dying.  It simply _could not be_.  It was not in his warrior's way.  And it was certainly not the time.  _This land is not ready to lose you_…

      "May I see him?" Legolas asked.

      "Of course," said Arwen, "Follow me."     

* * *

      "My friend," Legolas coaxed, willing for the King to open his eyes, and stop looking as if he were already among the dead.  Aragorn lay still, his white face gaunt and unmoving, the elf needing to strain to feel that he was even breathing at all.

      Aragorn blinked, and his warm eyes settled on the elf, sitting beside his folded arms.

      "You've come a long way," Aragorn said softly, his voice grated and broken.  He cleared his throat, "What brings you here?"

      "I bring herbs from our great forests," said Legolas with a smile, "how are you feeling?"

      Aragorn gave him a sardonic grin, and refused to answer the question, "You have not rested since you arrived."

      "I am quite well," said Legolas, "It is you who looks terrible."  
      Aragorn's eyes danced; he new the jibe well, from more uncertain times in their lives.  Even in war and around death, they had always found matters of lightness.  "You, on the other hand, never look terrible.  And are never late."

      "Late for what?" Legolas asked softly, though he knew, for a certainty, that Aragorn was referring to his imminent death.

      "I did not wish to leave," said Aragorn, "without telling you some things."

      "Then I wish I had never come," said Legolas, his voice shaking though he struggled for control, "So you'd have had to hold on much longer."

      "All men must go in some way," Aragorn told him, "and now is just one other time that another man dies.  Do not let this break what peace we had found, Legolas.  Do not let my kingdom fall.  And keep my family safe."

      "I make no promises until you make one of your own," said Legolas tightly.

      "I am hardly at a position to give you anything," the King said, chuckling a little.

      "I know all men must die," said Legolas, "I know this is a fate you too must endure.  But not without a good fight.  No yielding without all means exhausted.  We fight as long as we can and as hard as we can and if this still yields nothing, we _ride out to meet_ our fate.  Would you to swear this?"

      "I swear," said the King, smiling at his friend as his eyes started to drift close once again, "Your promise?"

      "I will not let your kingdom fall as much as I am able," said Legolas, "And I will keep your family safe."

* * *

      Legolas left Aragorn's quarters and was ushered by the same majordomo from earlier to his own room.

      "Has Gandalf been to see him?" Legolas asked, as they walked across the corridors of the palace.

      "He has been summoned," replied the majordomo, his discretion prompting him to say naught else.  He stopped in front of a door, and opened it for the elf.

      "Would you be needing anything else, Prince?" he asked.

      "I wish to be informed the moment Gandalf arrives," said Legolas.

      "Very well," said the majordomo, beginning to close the door, "Good night, sir."

* * * 

      Even with his long days of travel, the quiet night and his bed held no peace or comfort to him.

      _Aragorn was dying_.

      As his mind raced with any kind of answer, it was plagued by that infernal chant, circling him and engulfing him like a catchy song that stayed with one for days on end.

      "_Witches, witches in the night…_"

      Legolas grit his teeth in frustration against it; elves were profoundly resilient, but they needed some rest too.  He would be useless to Aragorn if he were weary.

      _"Evil eyes shining bright…"_

      _Aragorn was dying.  The King needed him strong, now._

      _"Free the sins from inside your head…_"

      _Aragorn was dying.  Gondor needed him to help their King_.

      _"Watch the living, raise the dead."_

_      Aragorn was_—

      He shot up from bed.

      Blinking in amazement at his epiphany, he pushed away his bed covers and got to his feet.  Grabbing his robe, he rushed out of his room and rammed straight into the majordomo.

      The majordomo, with all of his composure, merely raised his brows in wordless inquiry.  "Master Gandalf had just arrived."

      "Excellent," Legolas said, patting the majordomo on the shoulder and heading straight for Aragorn's room, where surely Gandalf would immediately go.

* * *

      Gandalf frowned as he watched Aragorn in the King's deep but fretful sleep.

      "He is in pain," Gandalf whispered, "He will not be with us for too long."

      Legolas watched his weathered old face, with all of its grief and disappointment.  

      "Is there nothing else you can do?" asked Legolas.

      Gandalf stared at the elf, shook his head, though after a moment, he looked curiously upon the flame in Legolas's eyes.  

      "You know a way," whispered Gandalf in awe.

      Legolas glanced at the sleeping Aragorn hesitantly.  "I would rather that he not hear of it."

      Gandalf nodded, and the two men turned to leave the room, just as Arwen rushed in toward it.

      "Gandalf!" she exclaimed, hope in her eyes.  It pained the wizard to have to tell her he would be of no particular help.  

      "See to the King," murmured Gandalf, and Arwen looked after him and Legolas suspiciously as they walked away towards the corridors.  After a moment, she did as she was told, and closed the door behind her.

      "There was a legend, when I was a child," said Legolas, "Of witches who could raise the dead.  There were songs about it, games and great stories.  They have to have come from somewhere, Mithrandir.  Where? If anyone must know, it must be you."

      Gandalf frowned at him, obviously disappointed  "This is your answer."

      "This is our only answer for now," insisted Legolas, "Witches who could raise the dead.  Who are they?"

      "You are chasing demons, elf," Gandalf said dispassionately, "this will go nowhere."

      Legolas's eyes burned with frustration.  "Why? Because they are children's tales? But these legends began from real life, passed along by mouth and changed with time.  But it remains that it had begun with something true.  It almost always began with something real."

      "I do not argue your logic," said Gandalf, "but this will go nowhere not because it is a legend, but because all of the Lunaris are dead."

      Legolas's brows furrowed.  "The Lunaris?"

      "A clan of humans who could raise the dead," said Gandalf, "branded as witches, as devils.  They were massacred thousands of years ago, all of them.  Even the children.  None remain.  Their black magic had not been seen since.  It is a forbidden art by the standards of most races, because it holds nothing sacred.  Not life, not death."

      "None remain?" Legolas repeated achingly.

      Gandalf shook his head.  "Nothing is left of them but a rotting mass graveyard about two days' ride away from here.  It lies within an old forest.  Some say there are angry ghosts.  But that is all."

      "Ghosts, you say?" whispered Legolas, determinedly.  "I will seek any of the Lunaris that I could possibly find.  Even if they are just ghosts, or even just memories.  I need their magic, Mithrandir.  I need their spells.  I'll take whatever there is that they have left, anything that they could possibly give me."

      "You will find nothing," insisted Gandalf, "And their magic holds a price you take for granted."

      "What price?" asked Legolas, "I am certain that no expense will be spared to save the life of the King."

      Gandalf shook his head.  "It is not so simple.  They raise the dead using the life force of somebody else.  A life for a life, so to speak.  In order for one to live, someone else must die, someone else must be sacrificed.  They toy with lives, Legolas.  This is why people found the Lunaris so threatening."

      Legolas pursed his lips.  "I'll cross that bridge when I get there.  I must find them first, after all."

      "I would not hold fast to this hope, Legolas," Gandalf warned.

      "I know," Legolas said softly, "but someone must.  Keep Aragorn alive until I return."

To be continued…


	2. The Survivor

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Estel

Summary: Legolas deals with the dire consequences of practicing forbidden magic to save the life of Aragorn

Warnings: death & drama

**PART 1: Legolas**

CHAPTER 2: The Survivor

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      _Ghosts, they say_…

      Legolas slowed his faithful horse down to a trot, as he entered the forest's moonlit clearing.  There were no marks on the gravesite, and what ground that was stirred to bury the Lunaris has long-since stilled and calmed.  But there was a heaviness in the air.  Not so much ghosts, really, but a general feeling of… of… a once-dark, potent anger weathered by time into a quiet, longing hollow.

      _Not even any ghosts_, he thought, feeling almost as devoid of hope as this grave.  Maybe Gandalf had been right…

      _Wait_.

      His sharp eye caught a strange blossom near the center of the clearing.  The moonlight touched the forest with its liquid, glowing beauty, shining on the solitary purple flower that laid on the ground in its glory, its long stem tied with a slim, silver bow.

      Legolas hopped off his horse and strode towards the flower, transfixed.  He picked it up gently.

      "I'm sorry," he said to the grave, "I will have to borrow this for awhile.  I will replace it, I promise."

      He murmured more quiet assurances to appease the ghosts or calm the memories of what darkness had transpired here.  He needs the flower.  He needs to know where it came from.  If he knew where it came from, he would know from whom it was.  And whoever this person may be, he or she knew the Lunaris enough to set flowers on their grave.  That person should be able to help him, if anyone could at all.

* * *

      Just after dawn, Legolas waylaid an aging farmer from the nearest town, who had looked at him in wonder, and said that he had not seen an elf this close before.

      "As you can see," Legolas said with a smile, "we are a lot like humans."

      The farmer looked at him suspiciously.  "What can I do for you?"  

      Legolas showed him the flower.  "I do not recognize this breed.  I found it in the forest.  Our own forests in Mirkwood are vast and I am well-traveled, yet I've never seen the likes of this before.  Is this native to the area?"

      The farmer took the flower and smelled it, his eyes leaving Legolas's face after a moment of hesitation.  He turned the flower over in his palms, looking at its elegant lines, studying the stem.

      "It is a special hybrid," affirmed the farmer, "created by very clever hands, I must say… I believe it grows in drier areas.  Maybe rough soil, the impure kind with lots of rock.  Possibly even in sand.  It surely smells of the sea."

      Legolas's brows furrowed.  "The sea?"  
      The farmer nodded.  "The closest one is a day's ride away, at least.  You found this in the middle of the forest? That is curious indeed." 

      The farmer handed Legolas the flower, and the elf looked at it with even greater wonder.

      "I have an affinity for the sea," Legolas confessed.

      "I have heard of that longing," said the farmer.

      Legolas smiled at him.  "Thank you for your time, sir.  A day's ride away, you say?" 

      The farmer nodded.  "I'm sure you would not have a hard time finding it.  Follow the scent of the air.  And the sound of the gulls."

* * *

      Legolas would know a thing or two about that sound.  The sea, and his eventual fate called upon him.  It was an insatiable hunger, that would surely quiet only after he sails to the Undying Lands, as all elves eventually would.

      Interesting, that this new quest of his would have that added dimension, make it this much harder than it already was to begin with.

      He had been riding for three days, almost without rest save for the several hours he would allow for his horse for respite.  If it were just him, he would have pressed on without pause.  Rest, he could get later.  Aragorn did not have the luxury of time.

      He could hear the sound of the crashing waves, and the air was more humid here than from where he had come.  Breezy, but not dry.  The ground, however, was already gradually becoming less and less rich, and the vegetation was starting to become more diverse.  He was nearing the sea.

      He calculated how long it would take him to return to Gondor, to return to Aragorn.  Three more days, assuming he dealt with his business here quickly, and didn't stop for much rest.  His resilient body would hold out, yes, most certainly.  And his loyal horse would have the spirit to fight the weariness beside him.  It was for Aragorn that he worried.  Three days more might be three days too late.  For all he knew, the King might even have died already by now…

      He shook the thought away.  No.  He couldn't doubt, not now.  There was no time.  There was no use to.  He had gone too far already, beginning with children's games and ghosts and memories, to this flower steadily in his hand, real and tangible.  And someone had grown it, someone had made it.  He wasn't chasing just a fleeting hope anymore.  He truly had a chance, now.

      _Aragorn_ had a chance.

      He tugged gently on the reins of his horse, as his eyes settled on a cleared, narrow dirt road to his right.  Dawn was just breaking, and it was the first sign of any domesticated life he had seen since he had ran across the farmer a day ago.  Perhaps this leads to a town.  Perhaps the person he is looking for lives there.

      ~Let's take this road,~ he told his horse, who willingly obliged.  

      A few meters down the path, he realizes that it did not lead to a town.  But it was surely bringing him to where he needed to go.

      He looked up at the large, wooden house.  It stood mighty and beautiful, next to an empty barn and what looked to be a small cabin.  The structures were surrounded by beds of wildflowers, and with them looked to be the exact breed that he was holding onto.  A small dirt path continued from behind a house, and he could have sworn it would lead towards the sea shore, for the waves he heard were crashing nearby…

      "Hello?" he called out, focusing on his task, "Anyone home?"

      The door to the cabin was thrown open, and a woman stalked towards him, bearing an ominously sharp-looking dagger.

      "State your business and leave," she snapped.

      Cautiously, so as not to alarm her, Legolas jumped from his horse and landed lightly on his feet, about a meter away from her.  He watched her face closely.  Her skin was a luminous white, her elegant bones pronounced, and though most of her hair was tied up and hidden beneath a gray bandana, stray black, curling locks teased the sides of her sweaty forehead.  Her eyes were the silver of the moon, and he knew at once that he had at last found the Lunaris.

      "I am Legolas," he said, "Prince of Mirkwood.  I need a service that only you can provide."

      She frowned, lowered her guard somewhat.  "I've heard the elves have the greatest of blacksmiths and craftsmen.  I see no reason why you should come to me."

      Legolas glanced at the dagger she was yielding.  "You made that?" he asked, genuinely impressed.

      Her brows furrowed.  "I offer no other service but this.  You must have the wrong person, if this is not what you seek.  You may leave now.  I have work to do."

      She was turning to leave, until he showed her the flower he had taken from the grave of the Lunaris.

      "This is yours?" Legolas asked.

      She took it from him, glaring at him.  "You stole this."

      "I borrowed it," Legolas corrected, "I gave them my word that it would be replaced."

      "You had no right," she told him softly, as she turned the flower over in her hands.  Her eyes were no longer afire, and she was more cautiously hesitant than hostile, suddenly feeling that he knew more about her than he should, "What service is it that you need? Speak plainly."

      "My friend is dying," said Legolas gravely, "And only the Lunaris can save him."

      She looked at him levelly.  Sighed.  "Come inside."

* * *

      The house smelled of an aromatic wood, remained cozy even though it was soon apparent that the beautiful, young woman was its only occupant.

      "Sit," she told him as they entered a small kitchen.  "I offer you some tea, Legolas of Mirkwood."

      Legolas hesitated for a moment, about to point out that he didn't have the time.  But he was the one who needed her help, so he would give her the leeway she desired.  Besides, tea and a seat, after days of endless travel, seemed sound indeed.

      "What is your name?" Legolas asked her, watching as she prepared the tea and the sun started to rise in the window.

      "Jacinda," she replied, preoccupied.  She turned to him, bearing two cups of steaming tea that smelled of roses.  She sat beside him, watching him carefully.

      The smell of the rosewater was irresistible.  He took a tentative sip, and it seemed to warm and relax him.

      "Few people know of the Lunaris," she said softly, "You've not told anyone about me, have you? They will come for me.  And they will kill me, as they have killed everyone else."

      Legolas shook his head.  "I've not told anyone—"

      Suddenly, she rose from her seat and had a dagger against his throat, sending the steaming tea flying.  "Then this secret shall die with you," she whispered.

      Legolas met her eyes coolly.  "The only one I've told," he said, "guarantees discretion," he added a lie, "But if something should happen to me, I assure you he has the power to track you down."

      She muttered a curse, and pushed away from him.  "You disrupt my life," she said distastefully, "What do you need?"

      "I need you to help my friend," said Legolas, "he is dying.  And you are of the Lunaris, aren't you? I am prepared to pay any price."

      She scoffed at him.  "The cost will be high."

      "I've been told that someone must be sacrificed for someone else to be brought back to life," said Legolas, "I readily volunteer to give my life to save my friend."

      "I'm not talking about that cost," she snapped, "your life means nothing to me.  I was wondering about what's in it for me, elf.  What could you pay me? Do I look like I need land? Or riches? You have nothing that I could possibly want."

      Legolas considered this.  "Your safety? My silence?"

      She laughed at him.  "My safety relies upon your silence, and your silence, my dagger can easily acquire."

      "Everyone must want something," Legolas pointed out.

      She frowned at him.  "Yes.  Of course."

      "What do you want?" Legolas asked, "I will find a way to get it."

      Jacinda averted her eyes from him, which were suddenly clouded with some fear and embarrassment.  "The Lunaris can raise the dead, but we always had trouble making the men love us."

      He bit his lip, wondering where this was going.

      "The line could not end with me," she said softly, "The Lunaris could not die with me, do you understand this?"

      He shook his head.  Honestly, no.

      "I want you to give me a daughter," she said in a breath, "Sire me a daughter, and then you may leave.  That is all that I want from you."

To be continued…


	3. Costs

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Estel

Summary: Legolas deals with the dire consequences of practicing forbidden magic to save the life of Aragorn

Warnings: death & drama

**PART 1: Legolas**

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CHAPTER 3: Costs

__

      Legolas's jaw could have hit the ground.  She glared at him, embarrassed and angry.

      "Forget it," she snapped, "You make fun of me.  Your friend will die, and he will remain dead.  And the Lunaris will die with me.  And we can all just be in peace."

      "No, I…" Legolas said tentatively, "I was merely surprised."

      _Shocked, actually_.

      Jacinda shifted her weight, profoundly uncomfortable.  "Well?"

      Legolas blinked at her.  "By… conventional means?"

      "Do I look like an animal to you?" she snapped, "Of course by the conventional way.  Unless you elves do it differently…"

      "Quite the same, actually," he said at once, now truly sharing her embarrassment, "That is, as far as I know."

      _Oh, Aragorn, the trouble I go through for you…_

      "Well?" she pressed.

      Legolas swallowed.  "You mean now?"

      "No, fool," she said, shaking her head, "Do your business first, with your friend, then return to me.  You need to stay here with me until the child is born.  What if he turns out to be a male? Then I will just be saddled with this crazy half-elf-child.  I need a daughter.  You will stay with me until I have a daughter.  Only by the women does the Lunaris survive."

      He looked at her dubiously.  "That sounds like a long time."

      "I told you the cost is high," she said irritably.  

      --

      "I have a dilemma," said Legolas, after a moment, "I may not be able to return to you.  I told you I intend to give my own life as the sacrifice."

      She waved this away.  "Elves are resilient.  The life-sacrifice would kill a human, but not an elf.  You will, however, find yourself… less gifted."

      "Less gifted?" Legolas repeated.

      "Mortal, in effect," Jacinda replied, "you will lose the hearing, seeing and sensing attributes of an elf.  You will lose your immunity to human diseases.  You will age.  You will die.  Think of it as… losing half of your life, whereas the ritual takes the whole of a human's."

      Legolas considered this.  When he had volunteered to give his life to save Aragorn's, he expected the death to be quick and dignified.  This new consequence he did not foresee at all.

      "I could hardly offer you anyone else's life but my own," said Legolas slowly, "We have a deal."

      She nodded, very pleased.  "I shall begin the preparations."  As she rose, he took her elbow gently, and found himself compelled to ask,

      "What makes you so sure I would return to redeem my word to you?" said the elf, "What makes you so certain that after I took what I wanted, I would flee from our bargain?"

      --

      "I find it hard to question the honor," she replied cautiously, "of a man who would go through such great lengths to save the life of his friend."

* * *

      Hours later, she found him inside the barn, petting his horse as it rested against one of the aging stalls.

      "Is it ready?" Legolas asked, turning towards her as his hands absently caressed the mane of his horse.

      She offered him a sheathed dagger.  It was still warm to the touch, newly crafted.  "There will be a full moon in four days," she said, "I am not a master of this magic, I've not had a chance to practice it, but a full moon would ensure that it succeeds.  You resurrect him on a full moon, and there will be no doubt.  He is resurrected as if he was never ill.  He will be strong and at his best form."

      Legolas removed the dagger from the sheath.  The gleaming blade was tinged with red, making the silver an impure marble.  He glanced at her curiously.

      "My blood," she said, "The ritual requires the blood of the Lunaris.  The blade is made in part of my blood."

      Legolas looked down the length of her body, searching for where her wound could possibly be.  She shifted uncomfortably under his prying, intent eyes.

      "Stop it," she muttered.

      "Do you require assistance in treating your injury?" Legolas asked.

      "Don't bother," she said easily, "Do you understand what you have to do?"

      "You say I must resurrect him on the full moon," Legolas murmured, as he studied the blade, "What if he is still alive in four days?"

      "A stupid question," Jacinda said impatiently, "You kill him.  Slit his throat, wait for him to be dead, that is quick and best.  Then you use the dagger to draw blood from your arm.  Spill it onto his mouth.  Then stab the dagger into his heart.  He will return, I promise you."

      Jacinda measured him by her eyes, reading the new hesitations on his face, "A part you weren't counting on playing, I see.  Make someone else do it, or gather your nerve in four days.  Either way, do it on the full moon."

      She stepped forward, and grasped his hands and closed them upon the hilt of the dagger.  She leaned over it and murmured some chants and prayers.  After a moment, she pulled away from him.

      "It will do what it was made to do," she said airily, "As long as you do what you have to do."

* * *

      _Gather my nerve in four days_.

      Jacinda of the Lunaris had seemed perfectly ruthless enough to be able to do what it was she had suggested, but Legolas, for all of his skills and years of wisdom, still found his heart beating frantically.

      He had returned to Gondor in good time, told Gandalf nothing of this plan, for it felt less real as the moments neared the full moon.  He had avoided the prying eyes of the wizard and pleaded exhaustion from his long journey.  But Gandalf had looked at him as if he saw through, though the wizard held his ground and let him have the time he needed.  

      Legolas quietly shut the door to Aragorn's room behind him.  Arwen was there, seated on the bedside of her dying husband.  His ragged breathing broke the silence of the room, shattered the tranquility of the night.

      Arwen looked up at Legolas, watched carefully as he approached them.

      "Gandalf says," said Arwen, "You may have found a way to save him.  And yet you speak of nothing.  What is this hope? Dare I cling to it?"

      Legolas nodded at Aragorn, "He always seemed to hold fast even to the most desperate pieces of it.  Perhaps you too, could."

      Arwen averted her eyes from him, looked upon her husband and touched his brow.  "He trusts you explicitly."

      "And you?" Legolas asked, searching her face, "I could not do this if I did not have your trust, Evenstar."

      She stared at him for a moment, before she gathered her skirts and rose to leave the room.

      "Arwen?" he called softly.

      She stopped beside him, laid a hand upon his shoulder.  "You shouldn't have wondered."  
      Legolas watched her leave, not only the room, but he knew she has left him to his own devices.  She closed the door behind her.  And the soft click of it signaled the beginning of his task.

      He looked out the window, and the full moon shone through it in all of its mighty splendor.

      Legolas drew the dagger from his tunic, and let the moonlight kiss the blade.  

      _Lend me strength_, he begged.

      Before he thought twice, he clamped his left hand over Aragorn's mouth, and the ailing King's eyes shot open, suddenly awake.

      "Forgive me," Legolas whispered, looking at those eyes, who even now, trusted him with such depth that they looked relieved upon the sight of him.

      Legolas used his other hand to run the dagger across Aragorn's neck, and watched as the blood welled out of the gaping wound, and pooled around the two of them.

      Legolas's eyes watered in fear and grief, though he struggled to keep hold of himself, as he watched the blood leave Aragorn's frail body, and the life slowly vanish from his eyes.

      He removed his left hand from Aragorn's mouth, now open from his struggle to live.  Legolas laid his hand over the King's heart, waiting for it to still.

      When the beating had at last quieted, Legolas took the dagger and ran it across his forearm, immediately drawing blood.  He let it drip down onto the King's mouth, and curiously his tears joined the red drops.

      _I give you my life_, he thought to his friend, _for what is life itself but this blood and these tears.  Live, Aragorn.  I beg of you._

      Legolas drew his arm away, and cradled it next to his chest.  It throbbed with the pain of the cut, beat in time with his furious heart.  He took the dagger with his good arm, and held it high over his head.

      "NO!"

      He had heard Gandalf as the wizard rushed into the room, but his hand sailed down to the King's heart, and the dagger embedded itself upon it.

      For a moment, there was a brute, unforgiving silence, and he suddenly feared that he may have murdered the King, instead of saved him.

      Gandalf grabbed him by the shoulders forcefully, "What have you done, you foolish elf?" he demanded.

      But Legolas's eyes would not leave Aragorn, even to face the wrath of the wizard.  

      _Live_, he urged Aragorn, _Live_…

      He watched in awe as suddenly, the blood that had pooled around Aragorn turned black, and darker as it was kissed by the light of the moon.  Blacker and blacker did it turn, and it moved of its own, swirling and drying as it vanished into dust, stirred by the wind.

      Gandalf watched Legolas's stunned face, and hurriedly turned to see the black magic at its work.

      Legolas suddenly felt glowingly warm, and he raised his hands to his face, watching as they, and his entire body, started to emit strands of sparkling light, his life force leaving his body.

      His eyes followed the glowing strands, _his_ glowing strands, as they flowed from him and surged towards the hilt of the dagger, his life force pouring into Aragorn's broken body.

      Legolas felt as if he was burning, and he felt more of his strength leave his body.  Releasing a low groan that seemed to have come from the very core of his soul, he watched as more of the glowing strands left his mouth, streamed towards the dagger.

      His knees fell beneath him, and he barely felt a rightfully-stunned Gandalf catch him, and cradle him as his life left his body.

      _Didn't she say I wouldn't die?_, he wondered inanely.

      His vision blurred, and he struggled to stay conscious.  Legolas could not close his eyes, no, not until he was certain that Aragorn was alive and well.

      At last, he watched as his life force shattered the dagger into brilliant, sparkling dust, and Aragorn's wounds close, and heal.  The color started to return to his skin, and he inhaled deeply.

      _Thank you_, Legolas thought, as his eyes slid close.

* * *

      "Foolish, foolish elf…"

      He came to, with Gandalf's mutterings playing about his ears.  He gasped awake, and felt the wizard's assuring arms circle around him.

      "Legolas…" Gandalf said, as if he were on the verge of a scold.  But he bit his tongue, and let the elf gather his wits about him.

      "Aragorn," Legolas murmured, fighting to sit up.

      "Calm down," snapped Gandalf, "he is well.  He just sleeps.  He will awaken by the morn, thanks to your foolishness.  Regain your strength.  Catch a breath."

      _I live_, Legolas thought, feeling the air in his chest.  The air had never tasted as sweet as this.

      "Do you know what this means?" Gandalf asked him quietly, all anger leaving his gruff voice, "Do you know what you have done to yourself?"

      "Yes," said Legolas, his eyes drifting towards Aragorn's sleeping, restfully breathing body, Arwen was sitting beside him, looking at her husband lovingly, "And I do not regret at all."

      "You are no longer an elf," said Gandalf, "you will find the ground harder, the nights colder, the winds harsher.  You will not see, or hear as you used to—"

      "I know, Mithrandir," said Legolas slowly, rising cautiously to his feet under the watchful eye of Gandalf, "I know."

      He blinked, for it was as if a sudden haze has been put over his eyes.  He felt half-blind, half-deaf.  

      _So this is how a mortal man lives_…

      "You will die," Gandalf said gravely, "You will not enter the Undying Lands, for not only are you no longer an elf, you are not even an elf-friend, you are practically an exile, after this black art."

      "I know," said Legolas softly, looking at Aragorn, "I've known the costs.  They rest well with me, Gandalf."

      Arwen looked up at Legolas gratefully, tears welling in her eyes.  She took his hands and kissed them, her throat too constricted for words.

      "I must leave," Legolas said quietly, pulling away from her.

      "Would you not see him rise?" Arwen asked.

      "He is well, I am certain of it," Legolas said, "Now I must redeem my word to the Lunaris, who made this all possible.  Do not speak to Aragorn of this.  I would rather he not know."

      "But—" Arwen argued.

      "Please," Legolas insisted, "this is all I ask.  I do not wish for him to regret for me."

      Arwen hesitated, then nodded.  Gandalf grudgingly promised the same.  Legolas accepted this and strode towards the door, feeling their eyes boring into his retreating back.  He knew at that moment that he could no longer return to them.  Aragorn would not be able to live with himself, and Legolas wanted the King to make the best use of the life he had been given.  For Gondor.  For Middle-Earth.  

      "Wait," Arwen said softly, walking towards him.  With her deft hands, she undid the braids that held his streaming, golden hair away from his face, letting them frame it instead.

      "Shorter ears," she said softly, by way of explanation, using his hair to cover his no-longer pointed ears.

      __

_      Shorter years_, he thought, but just smiled at her and nodded his thanks.

      "Goodbye," he said, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

To be continued…

PREVIEW:

            Chapter 4 ends Part 1 of "Estel," which is the story following Legolas's quest.  Part 2 of "Estel" will have several chapters as well, and will be following Aragorn's discovery of what his life had cost one of his dearest friends.

            Chapter 1 of Part 2 is called "Strangers," and the story continues six years after "Costs", and Aragorn sees Legolas again for the first time.  This is one of the scenes from "Strangers."

      Aragorn suddenly found himself staring down the length of a bow and arrow.  He heard his three men unsheathe their swords to protect their King by instinct.

      "Desist!" Aragorn commanded his men, and though the threat still existed, the three men did as their King bid.  They cautiously sheathed their swords, and looked warily upon this young boy with his bow and arrow.

      It wasn't the threat to his life that sent Aragorn's heart racing.  It was this young boy, who could not be more than six or seven years of age, with his streaming golden hair, his intensely focused eyes, his sure, un-shaking hands wielding what looked to be an intricate Elvish bow…

      "Legolas," Aragorn whispered, even as he thought that it could not be possible.  This boy, this… Mattheas, was the splitting image of his dear friend, the elf whom he had not seen in years.

      The boy flinched, as if he recognized the name.  But he held his ground, and refused to lower his defenses.  "State your business and leave us in peace," he said, regal and arrogant.  He had the composure and looks of an elf, but his ears were short, like a man's.  And he was so young…

      "I am Elessar," said Aragorn, "My men and I have come from a mission, and we seek your permission to use your stables, as shelter until the storm passes."

      "You are the King," Mattheas said in awe, lowering his weapon, "I apologize, sire.  But 'tis not my permission to give.  We are awaiting the return of our father."

      "Of course," Aragorn nodded, "I should like to meet him as well."

      _Would it be you, Legolas?_, he wondered.


	4. Strangers

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Estel

Type: one-shot

Summary: Legolas deals with the dire consequences of practicing forbidden magic to save the life of Aragorn

**PART 2: Aragorn**

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CHAPTER 1: Strangers

___

      It has been six years.

      Curiously, the path that Aragorn was taking had reminded him of that time, when he had been deathly ill.  It's as if he had come through here before, or perhaps that it was peppered by the strong spirit of someone he knew, who had taken this same road with his passions and will, his thoughts and his hesitations, marking the road forever.

      There was a great storm blowing over his troupe, but they pushed on because that was the kind of men that they were.  The King, and his band coming from a diplomatic mission, plagued by the incessant rain that only seemed to strengthen with time.

      "Sire," his right-hand man, on the horse beside him called, "The horses are tired, as are the men.  I do not wish to complain but this storm only looks to get worse, not better."

      "I understand, Captain" Aragorn said, "We will make camp upon the next clearing that we find.  Perhaps a cave, for the horses.  We have been traveling for days, after all."

      The men rode on, and after awhile, Aragorn found himself stopping next to a narrow dirt road to his right.

      "Sire?" his Captain inquired.

      "This dirt road," said Aragorn, "Does it lead into a town?"

      "'Tis not on the map, sire!" his navigator replied, from somewhere behind, "But small settlements have been known to pepper the area.  Perhaps they may be hospitable."

      Aragorn looked up at the dark sky.  Considering it was supposed to be noon, this storm was truly bad in that it made the day look like the black of night.

      Aragorn signaled for his men to take the dirt road.  A few meters along it, they sighted a large house, and he some of his men cheered at the sight of a stable barn beside it.

      "Shelter…" one of them said longingly.

      "We must speak to the owners first," Aragorn said, "Do not be hasty.  We must respect their will."

      "Surely they would welcome the King," said his Captain.

      "Times are still uncertain," said Aragorn, "They may be wary."

      Aragorn stopped his horse, and his men followed suit.  He jumped off his horse, and handed the reins to his Captain.  "Hold your position," Aragorn commanded, "Give me three of your men on foot, we shall speak with the owners.  Keep still.  Do not trample on their flowers."

      The Captain nodded, and glanced at the flowerbeds that he hadn't even noticed, surrounding the large, wooden house.

      "Of course," the Captain said, turning to his men and assigning three of the best to accompany the King.

      Barely sparing a glance behind him, Aragorn sauntered over to the porch of the wooden house.  The windows were aglow with firelight.  It looked warm and inviting, and he tried no to think of his last warm meal, with a roof over his head, near a fire…

      His knuckles rapped smartly against the door, and it took only a moment until it was opened halfway for him.  The person who had opened the door was a little girl, who could not have been more than four or five years old.  Her eyes were wary but curious, a stunning silver.  Her hair was a curly mass of jet-black, and her face was flushed and healthy.

      "Hello," she said with a tentative smile on her little, pink, full lips.

      Aragorn was charmed.  He fell to a knee so that they met eye-to-eye.  "Are you the lady of the house?" he asked, mock-gravely.

      "Yes," she said, stifling a delighted giggle, "Who are you?"

      "I am Aragorn," said the King, "King Elessar."

      She looked at him skeptically, "I've heard of the legends.  Papa said, you're supposed to be ten feet tall."

      Aragorn laughed, "That is why they call it tall tales."

      She laughed too, and the sound was warm and musical.

      "I'm Adrianna," the little girl said primly, and offered him her hand to shake.  A voice from inside the house interrupted the exchange, though refused to show himself.

      ~You foolish girl,~ said the voice in curiously fluent Elvish, ~Why did you tell these strangers your name?~

      Aragorn watched Adrianna roll back her eyes, and reply in just-as fluent Elvish, ~Calm down, Mattheas, he looks perfectly harmless to me.~

      ~Now you've told him my name as well!~ snapped the boy, ~Stupid girl.  I will tell Papa.~

      ~And I'll tell him you called me stupid,~ the girl snapped back, before turning to Aragorn, "That is my brother.  He is a grouch."

      Suddenly, a kettle whistled from inside the house, and Adrianna exclaimed, "The broth!" before turning away from Aragorn, apparently running to take care of her cooking.

      She had unwittingly left the door ajar, and it opened wider, pressed by the winds.  Aragorn suddenly found himself staring down the length of a bow and arrow.  He heard his three men unsheathe their swords to protect their King by instinct.

      "Desist!" Aragorn commanded his men, and though the threat still existed, the three men did as their King bid.  They cautiously sheathed their swords, and looked warily upon this young boy with his bow and arrow.

      It wasn't the threat to his life that sent Aragorn's heart racing.  It was this young boy, who could not be more than six or seven years of age, with his streaming golden hair, his intensely focused eyes, his sure, un-shaking hands wielding what looked to be an intricate Elvish bow…

      "Legolas," Aragorn whispered, even as he thought that it could not be possible.  This boy, this… Mattheas, was the splitting image of his dear friend, the elf whom he had not seen in years.

      The boy flinched, as if he recognized the name.  But he held his ground, and refused to lower his defenses.  "State your business and leave us in peace," he said, regal and arrogant.  He had the composure and looks of an elf, but his ears were short, like a man's.  And he was so young…

      "I am Elessar," said Aragorn, "My men and I have come from a mission, and we seek your permission to use your stables, as shelter until the storm passes."

      "You are the King," Mattheas said in awe, lowering his weapon, "I apologize, sire.  But 'tis not my permission to give.  We are awaiting the return of our father."

      "Of course," Aragorn nodded, "I should like to meet him as well."

      _Would it be you, Legolas?_, he wondered.

      "In the meantime," Adrianna said, bounding into the room, precariously bearing a cup of steaming soup that miraculously escaped spillage, "Would the King and his loyal men join me for some broth?"

      Aragorn smiled at her indulgently, "If it pleases you."

      She beamed at him, and led him and his troupe of three to the small dining room, her older brother following hesitantly, cautiously measuring the three men whom Aragorn was with, who looked as if they would follow the King to the ends of the Earth.

      Aragorn took a sip of the broth, and he glanced at one of his men who had almost groaned in pleasure.  It was delicious, and so incredibly warming.

      "Is it good?" Adrianna asked one of the soldiers earnestly.  The man glanced at Aragorn for permission to reply, and Aragorn prodded him with his eyes.

      "It is very good," the soldier said quickly, "Absolutely delightful."

      Adrianna grinned, "I made it."

      The soldier seemed at a loss as how to relate with the precocious child.  "T-truly?" he stammered, "And what of your mother?"

      "She died some months ago," Adrianna replied, shrugging, "The plague took her.  But you needn't be uncomfortable about it.  She taught me how to cook.  And her spirit is strong and remains within me, and within this house."

      The soldier looked relieved when she turned to Aragorn instead.

      "Does the King like it?" she asked.

      "It is wonderful," Aragorn said, "Thank you."

      Suddenly, they heard the door open, and Adrianna jumped from her seat excitedly, once again to be trailed by her hapless older brother.

      "It's Papa," she exclaimed, "He would be so glad to see the King has come to visit!"

      Aragorn rose from his seat, and followed the children to the living room.  The father indeed had arrived, but he had his back to Aragorn, as he shed the multitude of coats he was wearing and put them upon a rack.  He was soaking wet, and his long, golden hair was tied loosely, hanging along the length of his back.  His ears were not pointed as an elf's, and for a breath, Aragorn dismissed the idea that this man was Legolas.  Until he heard that distinct, soothing voice.

      "Children," he asked, "Why are there men outside the house?"

      "There are men inside too!" Adrianna said delightedly, pulling her father to face Aragorn, "You see? It's the King!"

      Their eyes met, after six years of having vanished from each other's lives, two brothers stared at each other in wonder and delight.  The silence held for a moment, until Mattheas pulled at his father's tunic and spoke to him in an Elvish he assumed the King and his men would not understand.

      ~Adrianna was quick to entertain strangers,~ Mattheas complained to his father, who looked exactly like him, ~She was not cautious at all.~

      ~And how was your conduct?~ Legolas asked of his son, his eyes dancing as he indulged him.

      ~I was not as lenient,~ Mattheas said proudly, ~I did not let them in until I heard him say your name.  The name that mother used to call you when she didn't think we were listening.~

      ~What name?~ Legolas asked, although he knew.  He had been hiding in the guise of a new name for years, although Jacinda had stubbornly taken to calling him Legolas.  He did not let the boy answer though, and instead turned to Aragorn.  "Sire.  What may we do for you?"

      "Our men and our horses are weary from travel," said Aragorn, "We hoped to use your stables, for shelter from this raging storm."

      "Of course," said Legolas, "Our home is your own."

      Aragorn smiled, and ordered his three men to inform the rest of the troupe and to make camp at the stables, leaving him in the house with Legolas and the two children.

      "Are your men hungry?" Legolas asked, "I've returned from capturing game.  My daughter makes a good broth.  It will be good enough for many."

      "Game?" Aragorn asked, "In this weather?"

      Legolas smiled at him wryly, daring Aragorn to doubt his prowess.  Legolas sank down on a chair, sitting in front of a raging fire.  He was cold, and wet, shivering slightly.  Adrianna stood on a stool behind him, drying his hair with a rag.

      "Isn't this dirty, 'Anna?" he asked his daughter, his voice muffled.

      She just giggled, "So are you, Papa."

      "See to the broth," Legolas told her, taking the rag from her small hands, "Mattheas, help your sister.  The soldiers of Gondor will appreciate it."

      Mattheas nodded, and the two children headed for the kitchen, hand in hand.  Legolas watched them leave, before he turned to Aragorn and smiled at him delightedly.

      "I am so happy to find you well," he told his old friend.

      Aragorn watched him closely.  "What have you been doing, my friend? Where have you been? You have children.  You had a wife.  And you've been hiding from me all this while."

      Legolas avoided the questions, for now.  His eyes clouded as he looked at Aragorn intently.  "Aren't they beautiful?"

      "Yes," Aragorn agreed, "And so intelligent.  You have raised them well, my friend."

      Legolas smiled, and stifled a cough.  "And how fares your own son?"

      "On his way to becoming a king himself," Aragorn replied, watching Legolas, "Are you ill?"

      Legolas shook his head, waved this away.  "And how is Gimli? The hobbits? Have you seen them in recent years? Eomer and Eowyn, and Arwen and Gandalf? Have you heard from Mirkwood?"

      "All is well, my friend," Aragorn assured him, "Although your Father wants to have your head for slinking away into another of your wild adventures.  A sentiment I and Gimli share as well, I guarantee you, for you have excluded us from what seems to be a great quest."

      Legolas chuckled, and coughed again.  He stifled it with some difficulty, failing as the hacking coughs racked his body relentlessly.  Aragorn put a comforting hand to his back.

      "Legolas…" Aragorn said quietly, worried.  He had never seen the elf so incapacitated.

      Legolas caught his breath, shivered a little.  His eyes watered, and the glowing magic they had upon that first time they had sighted each other in six years was starting to wane, and dim.

      Aragorn laid a hand upon the elf's warm brow, and he frowned.  "You should not have been out in this ridiculous weather."

      Mattheas entered the room, bearing a wool blanket and a cup of soup.  "The King is right, Papa," he said quietly, handing Legolas the armload.  

      Legolas just smiled at him.  "I'm fine, Mattheas."

      "Mama had told me the exact same thing," Mattheas said, distrusting, and his intent eyes fearful.

      "See to your sister," Legolas told him, and the boy quietly obeyed, leaving the two old friends alone.

      "Adrianna said the plague took their mother," Aragorn said quietly, "I'm very sorry for the loss of your wife."

      "It had been a strange marriage," Legolas said with a small smile, beginning to cough again.

      "We must get you to bed," Aragorn concluded, taking the steaming cup from Legolas's cold hands and setting it on a low table, "You are very sick."

      "It's been this way for a long time," said Legolas, "It makes no difference.  The fever comes and goes, you needn't worry about it."

      Aragorn ignored the advice, and had a grip on Legolas's arm, willing him to rise.

      "You musn't stand too close," Legolas snapped, turning his head away from Aragorn as he coughed, "I fear you may catch it and I would be the death of you."

      Aragorn's brows furrowed.  "Catch what, Legolas?"

      Legolas shook his head.  "Just… don't stand too close.  If you do not stand too close, all will be well.  I've taken great caution so that my children would not be infected, as I was.  As my wife was.  I've… I've not held them in so long, Aragorn."

      Aragorn watched the elf's face, his fear mounting in proportion to his frustration.  "What have you been doing to yourself, my friend… Elves do not catch the plague."

      Legolas pushed the stray strands of his hair to behind his now-short ears.  "In case you missed it."

      "I did not," said Aragorn, "But I've been wondering how this situation arose.  Here you are, before me, suddenly a man.  With great secrets.  The day is long, and the storm will take its sweet time ravaging this land.  We have all the moments we need for your long tale."

      "Past is past," Legolas said wearily.

      "Some pasts are like ghosts," said Aragorn, "They keep returning until they have satisfied themselves.  This path led me to you.  I want to know why."

      Legolas sighed.  "I am too tired for this," he lied.

      Aragorn looked at him worriedly.  He was pale, and shivering.  Thinner, and undoubtedly gravely ill.  He let the questions remain unanswered, for the moment.

      "Why did you tell your children I was ten feet tall?" he asked instead.

      Legolas smiled.  "I told them of your mighty deeds, is all.  Your height they probably imagined.  The stories were supposed to be bedtime stories, but it stirred their blood and it would go on all night."

      Aragorn grinned at him, helped him settle the wool blankets over his cold body.  "You rest here.  I shall see to my men, and return for you.  We have more to speak of."

To be continued…


	5. Secrets

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Estel

Summary: Legolas deals with the dire consequences of practicing forbidden magic to save the life of Aragorn

**PART 2: Aragorn**

___

CHAPTER 2: Secrets

___

      His loyal men had already made productive use of their time since Aragorn had seen them last; the stables have been converted into a functional camp.

      The horses were well-settled, and some of his men had taken a corner to rest in their bedrolls, while others were preparing to cook.

      "The host will prepare a broth for us," Aragorn murmured to one of those men as he passed them by, "We can save our provisions."

      "That's fantastic, sire," said the man, grinning widely and starting to put away the cookware, "We've not had a home-meal in so long."

      Aragorn sat down amongst his men, in a loose circle around a warming fire.  One of the three men who had joined him inside the house earlier, Diego, sat apart from the soldiers, his back to them as he kneeled on the ground, murmuring fervent prayers.  Aragorn watched him curiously.

      "He is a devout Lumenari, sire," the man beside him informed him, "He says he has set his eyes upon a witch, and he prays that this will not bring a hex upon his life."

      Aragorn frowned.  "And did you see this witch?"

      The man looked at the King curiously, "No sire, I was not among those who had gone with you inside the house."

      Aragorn's brows rose.  "There was no such witch."

      "The child, sire," said Anilov, one of the men who had entered the house with him, "Adrianna.  The little girl I had spoken with.  Diego says she is a witch.  Or at least, witch-born.  It's her eyes, he says, it looks like the moon."

      Aragorn's eyes narrowed, set his gaze upon Diego, "Diego."

      Diego stopped his prayers and turned to face the King.  "Sire?"

      "I've been told that you've set your eyes upon a witch," Aragorn said invitingly.

      "Us four have, sire," replied Diego, "I pray for my good fortune as well as your own, after this disaster."

      "How do you know she is a witch?" Aragorn asked.

      "Her mother was, surely," said Diego, "It's her eyes.  It is for those eyes, and their black magic, that they have been called the Lunaris."

      "I've not heard of the Lunaris," said Aragorn, "And I am well-traveled and learned."

      "Their reality has been distorted by legend and song," said Diego, "But we the Lumenari, who have brought them to rest, our tradition does not allow us to forget so easily.  All of the Lunaris are supposed to be dead.  We vanquished all of them thousands of years ago.  Every single one of them.  Women, their consorts, their children…"

      "Surely such a fate you could not wish for the girl," Anilov retorted, disbelieving.

      "She is a Lunari," Diego snapped, as if this were reason enough.

      "She is five years old!" said Anilov, "And surely not learned in their spells and enchantment.  Especially with her mother already dead.  She is like any other child."

      Aragorn raised a hand to still the argument.  "What has the Lunaris done to deserve such a black end?"

      "They have no respect for life," said Diego, "They are dangerous.  They resurrect the dead."

      Aragorn's brows furrowed, "It is a child's game."

      "No, sire," said Diego, "This is true.  They resurrect the dead by using the life force of another.  Kill one man to raise another.  It ruins the balance of things.  It is unnatural.  It is evil."

      Aragorn mulled this over.  He had a lot of questions, probably only Legolas can answer…

      "Either way," said Aragorn, "No one harms a hair on that child, do you understand?"

      Diego nodded gravely, "Yes, sire, as you bid.  But I must warn you to keep caution."

      "Broth!" a young, pert voice exclaimed from the door of the stables.  Wearing a too-large coat and trailed by her brother, the young witch in question bore a large pot and delightedly brought it to the soldiers.

* * *

      _Witches who raise the dead_…, Aragorn mused, _Legolas__, what straits you get into…_

      It was a disturbing thought.  A witch-wife, a witch-child, an elf-like son, an ex-elf father… What did one have to do with the other? Curiously, a recurring dream of his came to mind as well, although he wondered where it fit in this crazy puzzle.

      For years he had been dreaming of Legolas, with his smooth hands clamped over Aragorn's mouth, cutting off his air, killing his voice as he ran a sharp dagger across his throat.  He would feel his life ebb, until he shoots up awake.

      Why would he dream about such a thing? With his great friend as his villain and assailant? Why has Legolas been hiding from him and everyone else all these years? Why was he suddenly, seemingly a mortal man? 

      Such thoughts coursed through his mind as he slipped on his cloak, trudged through the rain to the main house, intent on getting answers from the elf, who would surely have them, if anyone did at all.

      Aragorn led himself into the house, finding Legolas where he had left him, slumped on an old, padded chair in front of the fire, covered in blankets.  His eyes were closed, and this gripped his heart.

      "Legolas!" he exclaimed, kneeling in front of his friend and grasping his shoulders.

      Legolas's eyes shot open, and he looked around him in alarm.  "Aragorn!" he said, "What's wrong?"

      "Are you well?" Aragorn replied, "Your eyes were closed! I thought perhaps you had died…"

      "Elves sleep with their eyes open," Legolas said, a slow smile forming across his weary face, "I'm no longer an elf.  I apologize for alarming you.  It seems I have learned the finer points of closing my eyes when I sleep."

      Aragorn looked at him skeptically.  "You hide things from me," he said distastefully.

      "Are my children disrupting your company?" Legolas asked, "I notice they have not returned from delivering the soup."

      "Mattheas is fascinated by the swords and the armor," Aragorn replied, willingly falling into the lighter subject, "And Adrianna is regaling my soldiers with myths and legends she had gleaned from her father.  Such fantastic tales you tell."

      "And yet they are real," pointed out Legolas, his eyes shining in remembrance, "You and I were there."

      "Legends have a way of emerging from some form of truth," Aragorn said reflectively, watching Legolas's face closely, "Don't you think this is so?"

      Legolas nodded cautiously, "Of course."

      "I've heard a legend, just tonight," said Aragorn, "Of witches who bring the dead back to life."

      Legolas tried to keep a straight face, not quite knowing how much Aragorn already knew and what he was trying to discover, "I've heard the same tale.  It was a game, when we were children."

      "There must be a grain of truth in it," Aragorn said, "Or more."

      Legolas shrugged, said nothing.

      "Especially," Aragorn continued, "when you have one such witch living inside your house.  I know that Adrianna is of the Lunaris.  Undoubtedly, her mother must have been."

      Legolas met the King's intense eyes levelly, "What of it?"

      "What of it?" Aragorn shot back at him, "Tell me, my friend.  Why must you hide such secrets? Did you fear for the life of your wife and your child? Did you fear we would turn away from you? Why do I feel as if I have much to do with everything? Speak to me.  Let these ghosts rest."

      Legolas looked at Aragorn in the eye, held his breath, weighed his words.

      "Six years ago I found out you were ill," said Legolas slowly, "And everyone believed you would die.  Even you."

      It had been true.  Aragorn was so certain of it.  And yet one morning he had woke up, seemingly from a long sleep, revived completely and highly energized.  The recovery, according to Gandalf and Arwen, had been nothing short of miraculous, and had said it had been a cure that Legolas had brought, shortly before he left for more merry misadventures.  Aragorn had figured that the cure had come from the forests of Mirkwood, or some other mystical place that only the wise elves knew of.  He sent his thanks to the Prince through Mirkwood, then continued with his duties.  Apart from the recurring dreams, he had thought nothing strange of those times.       

      "And you did die," Legolas continued, "but not by the disease.  You died by my hands.  I'm sorry, Aragorn, it was the only way I could…" he hesitated, couldn't seem to find the right words, "I wouldn't have been able to without…" he decided he had already got the message across, "Well.  Your eyes shot open and you looked at me.  I thought you might have remembered."

      "I thought it was a dream," Aragorn admitted.

      _A nightmare,_ he thought, but deigned to aggravate the guilt of the elf any further.

      "Did it hurt?" Legolas asked quietly.

      "It was swift," Aragorn said instead.

      Legolas looked at him, measuring, then simply accepted the reply with a nod.  "I needed the light of the full moon to resurrect you. So I had to kill you that night.  And then I brought you back to life, by the blade of the Lunaris.  One that my wife had made with her own blood."

      --

      "And how much did my life cost you?" Aragorn asked quietly, after a long moment, "I have been told that it takes the killing of one man to give life back to the other.  Who was sacrificed in my name?"

      Legolas averted his eyes.  "It was me.  The process kills a human, but it only makes an elf mortal.  It didn't hurt me at all."

      "It's hurting you now," Aragorn said gravely, full of self-loathing, "You would not even be ill if it wasn't for me.  I understand, now.  You've been hiding from me all these years, because you hate me for what I cost you."

      "That is a lie," said Legolas soothingly, "I have no regrets.  I hid so _you_ would not regret _for_ me, as you are doing now.  I did not want you to hate yourself, for there is no need to, Aragorn.  What I did was of my own choosing.  And do you see where such choices have brought me?"

      Aragorn looked at him in doubtful inquiry.

      "Here," Legolas said reverently, "It brought me here.  Where all my longings have come to rest at last.  In my house.  With my family."

      --

      Aragorn shook his head.  "My friend… you are a crazy elf."

      Legolas chuckled.  "I'm not an elf."

      "Just crazy," Aragorn said, smiling hesitantly.

      Legolas smirked, stifled a cough.  "You should have met my wife."

      "Yes," agreed Aragorn longingly, "I wish to know whom you have settled with at last, what kind of a woman she was."

      "I couldn't believe she loved me for the longest time," Legolas said with a smile teasing his lips, "She was the last of the Lunaris, and she needed a daughter to keep the line alive.  She constantly claimed that I was merely her… provider."

      "Did you love her?" Aragorn asked.

      Legolas considered this carefully.  "We had an agreement.  She would help me resurrect you, and I would give her a daughter.  Our first child had been a boy, so I stayed to give her another child.  As we waited to see if our next child would be a girl, I kept wishing it wouldn't be, because if it was, the bargain was done with and I had to leave.  I didn't want to leave anymore.  I loved my son, and she raised him with so much care.  I grew to care for her then.  And when our second child, Adrianna, was born, the deal was done and yet she did not ask me to leave.  It was then that I knew that she understood me.  And we made a good home for ourselves.  We lived quite happily."

      Aragorn smiled.  "She sounds…"

      "Different," Legolas laughed, the musical sound cut off by a dry cough.  He covered his mouth consciously.

      "Would you want something to drink?" Aragorn asked.

      Legolas shook his head, "It's all right, Estel."

      "What ails you, my friend?" Aragorn asked softly, "Do you even know? Have you even asked a healer?"

      "I have," replied Legolas, gulping in breaths, "It is the consumption.  They are too busy burying their own dead in town to bother with one sick man out here.  I hardly need a healer anyways."

      "Hardly?!" Aragorn exclaimed, disapproving.  He knew Consumption to be such a deadly disease.  It took some of its victims suddenly, some it took slowly, either way, almost all of them found their way to the grave…

      "How long, now?" Aragorn asked.

      Legolas paused in thought.  He sighed.  "A few months.  Jacinda delivered some of her work to town—she was a blacksmith, and most talented.  The town was already severely ravaged by the disease.  She undoubtedly returned with it.  She suffered for a few weeks, I knew not what ailed her until I went into town myself, to summon a healer.  Healers who had their hands full, I could take none of them from their duties to my house.  She passed away a few weeks after, in a deep sleep.  I cared for her, and kept the children away.  A few days later, I too had it.  I've been fighting it since.  It has been a couple of months."

      Aragorn's brows furrowed, and he looked searchingly upon his friend, "Has it shown signs of dispersing?"

      "I do not know," Legolas admitted, "But I have learned to live with it.  Some do survive the affliction, you know.  You needn't look at me as if I have already died."

      Aragorn frowned, "You musn't say such things."

      "You look at me as if I were fading from your eyes," Legolas said with a laugh, "It is how my son looks at me.  With great distrust.  Fearing to turn away, as if I would vanish if his eyes left me," he sighed, since Aragorn did not say anything about that, "You needn't worry, Aragorn.  I fight the good fight."

      "I know," Aragorn said soothingly, "But the enemy is strong."

      "So am I," Legolas smirked at him, slowly rising to his feet, "I will retire for the evening."

      "As you should," Aragorn said, his arms flailing hesitantly, wondering if his friend needed the assistance.  He was able to make it to his feet without incident.

      Legolas walking a few steps ahead of him, Aragorn took the blankets and followed as they moved down the narrow, aromatic, wooden corridors to the master room on the far side of the house.  Legolas opened the door, and through a large window in the room, Aragorn saw the breathtaking sight of the sea, tossing and thrashing with the storm.  The window showed a fine view of the slim stretch of sand that separated the shoreline from the house.

      "I knew the sea was nearby," said Aragorn in surprise, "I smelled it and heard it.  But I didn't know it was so near your home.  I never thought you would settle next to the sea."

      Legolas smiled at the sight in pleasure.  "I told you all my longings have come to rest here.  It no longer stirs me as if I were incomplete.  Now daily I could just marvel at its beauty.  I no longer feel as if I needed the tides to bear me away.  Instead, it's as if I've already come ashore."

      Aragorn watched Legolas sit on the edge of his bed, his hands absently running through the woolen covers.  He unlaced his boots, and leaned back on the headrest.

      He smiled in pleasure as he stretched out, grinning at Aragorn, "I tell you, my friend.  You've not felt so warm until you've felt cold.  And you've not felt great rest until you've become so weary.  Such strange things I've missed in my years as invulnerable as an elf.  Strange old mortal pleasures."

      Aragorn chuckled, "I've never seen it that way," he said, handing the blankets to Legolas, "I will see you in the morn."

      "Stay in our guest room," insisted Legolas, "Your men will understand.  You are the King.  It is the door next to this."

      Aragorn hesitated.  He had always kept camp with his men, no matter where he went.  Undoubtedly, they would understand if he stayed elsewhere, but he preferred the equity of it.  Tonight, however… Legolas had been right, about him fearing to turn away, lest the former-elf would vanish suddenly.  He wanted to be as near as he could.

      "Thank you," accepted Aragorn, "I will.  I shall inform them, and then will return and take advantage of your hospitality."

* * * 

      Even in times of peace, Aragorn's well-disciplined men would keep such a trustworthy watch.  As evening came—hard to tell since the night looked just as obscured with cloud and rain as the day—most of his men had taken to their bedrolls to sleep, while a number guarded the camp.  One more man stood just outside the house, and discreetly followed the King on the short walk back to the barn.

      "All is well?" Aragorn asked Anilov, who was in the nightwatch.  He surveyed the scene of sleeping soldiers.  Curiously, his eye fell on Adrianna, who was asleep on a bedroll, beside Diego, who was on the bare ground, curled up on one side with his back to her.  Her little hand was fisted at the back of his shirt.  Anilov followed his line of sight, and smiled a little.

      "She seemed to just find her way to him," said Anilov quietly, "She has some magic in her, indeed, sire, just not the kind that Diego had suspected."

      On Adrianna's other side was Mattheas, who slept as well, always loyally and protectively close.

      Aragorn nodded in approval.  "I will be with the host in his home, tonight.  You needn't assign a guard upon my door.  I assure you, we are safe here."

      "Have good night, sir," Anilov said.

      Aragorn stepped out into the rain once more, and headed back to the main house.  Removing his coat, he left it upon the rack, and made his way towards the corridors that led to the sleeping areas.  He passed by Legolas's room towards his own, except sounds from within made him pause.

      His heart wrenched at the sight of his old friend, shivering miserably beneath his blankets, his eyes shut tight, his teeth chattering.

      _Legolas_… Aragorn thought, never thinking that he would have to come to grips with his old friend's newfound vulnerability in so harsh a way.

      _I've done you a disservice_, he thought achingly, _If__ I could give you back your life, and your strength, I would_…

      Quietly, Aragorn stepped inside the room, and settled himself on a worn chair next to the bed.  It was going to be a long night.  He was determined that his eyes would never leave the ailing man, watching him _with great distrust.  Fearing to turn away, as if Legolas would vanish if Aragorn's eyes left him._

* * *

      And he did.

      Shooting upright, Aragorn awoke to find the day still dark, the rain still pouring, and Legolas's bed empty.  The King was sore from the inhospitable old chair, but Legolas seemed to have taken a blanket and covered him with it, making him as comfortable as possible, just before the blasted former elf left.

      He did not even stir! Aragorn growled and shook his head in dismay, rising to his feet.  Making his way to the living room, he found the ex-elf in question standing by the door, shedding his soaking coats and laying them upon the rack.

      "Of all elf traits you did not lose," Aragorn said dispassionately, "It had to be those blasted light feet."

      Legolas turned to face him and smiled shamelessly, "I must admit.  I wanted to see if I could still get past you."

      Aragorn frowned at him, glancing at the dead animals that he had placed upon the ground.  "You went hunting in this ridiculous weather?"

      "I go hunting in any weather," Legolas said absently, "We have to eat.  Life goes on.  I told you I've learned to live with the disease."

      "I saw you last night," snapped Aragorn, "no one who has come from a night like that should even be on their feet, you stubborn--" he had to pause in thought, "--man."

      "That," Legolas said flatly, looking embarrassed, "I'm sorry you had to see it.  I assure you though, there is nothing to fear.  The fevers come in the afternoons, the shivers come at night.  I do my business in the day, when I feel most strong.  I have been doing it for months."

      Aragorn glowered at him.  

      "We need it to live," Legolas said quietly, "I could hardly not provide for my children."

      Aragorn shook his head, sighed.  "It's just that… you could have told me.  I have a small contingent of the best marksmen of Gondor at my disposal.  Sometimes, such sacrifices are unnecessary."

      "I… apologize for worrying you," Legolas said, accepting the chastisement with a nod.

      Aragorn let the subject drop.  He glanced at the game.  "That's not a very big catch, is it?"

      Legolas smirked at him, "I'd love to see you do better, with poor visibility and most of the animals hiding from the rain."

      "Much more clever than you," Aragorn pointed out.

      "Ha!" Legolas said, just before his smiling face contorted to a pained expression, and he doubled over in harsh, hacking coughs, sinking to his knees.

      Aragorn caught him easily, lowered him to the ground slowly.  Legolas turned his face away from Aragorn, catching his breath and struggled to tell Aragorn between the incapacitating coughs to move away.

      "I will not," said Aragorn stubbornly, "You need help."

      "Please," Legolas managed, barely able to breathe between the spasms.  He jerked away from Aragorn, landed on his backside on the ground as he struggled to catch his breath.

      Aragorn looked at him in alarm, as blood trailed down a corner of his mouth.  The hands he had covered his coughs with were just as stained.

      Legolas stared back at him, knowing what he had seen.  Legolas's eyes were a picture of anguish, of a false confidence and a stubborn façade, with all of its assurances, now shattered.  Aragorn stared at his friend, and both knew that this disease would not stop until it has turned Legolas inside out.  

      "I'm sorry, Aragorn," Legolas said quietly.

To be continued…


	6. Estel

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Estel

Summary: Legolas deals with the dire consequences of practicing forbidden magic to save the life of Aragorn

**PART 2: Aragorn**

___

CHAPTER 3: Estel

___

      Aragorn sat on the porch of the wooden house, looking out at the rain as it fell endlessly upon the grounds.  He had settled Legolas in bed some time ago; perhaps it's been minutes since, maybe hours, maybe even days.  One could not tell the time in this cursed weather, when all was constantly gray and dark.

      Aragorn watched as his Captain sauntered over to him, bowing his head tentatively, as if asking for permission to interrupt the King's thoughts.

      "Get out of the rain, Rosio," Aragorn said wearily, "Sit by me.  You seem to have something on your mind."

      "The men and the horses are well rested, sire," Rosio said, sitting an arm away from the King, "I was wondering why we have not yet departed for Gondor.  After such a rest, this storm is one we can surely weather the rest of the way."

      Aragorn chewed the inside of his cheek.  "The host is an old friend of mine," Aragorn said, "This is a welcome respite from all my duties."

      "Of course," said Rosio quickly, "I apologize for being impatient."

      Aragorn shook his head to dismiss the apology.  Distractedly, he drummed his fingers together.

      "If I may ask," said Rosio, "Something seems to be bothering you, sire?"

      Aragorn paused, hesitating.  For a breath he considered not answering, and yet… His burden was great, and even the best of Kings often seek counsel.  

      "The children will lose their father soon," he said at last, "Our host here may seem an ordinary man to you, but he has saved my life, and played a pivotal part in the saving of Middle-Earth as well, one you could not possibly imagine.  We have been through much together.  He has the composure and wisdom of an elf, the iron will of a dwarf, the passions of a human, and the affable charm of a hobbit."  

      "That's saying a lot," Rosio said, not knowing what else to say, really, "I've come across a hobbit or two, myself."

      "He has given me his life," Aragorn said, "I think I could give him a few days of mine."

      "That soon, sire?" Rosio asked, glancing at the barn as if the children would soon emerge out of it.

      "That soon," Aragorn replied quietly, knowing with his healer's heart, "He does not have much time."

      "And what of the children?" inquired Rosio.

      "I do not know what to tell them," Aragorn admitted, "Though I have a feeling young Mattheas already knows.  And I do not know what my friend would ask of me regarding their future.  I do not know… much at all."

      --

      "You've never led us astray," Rosio said quietly, "I'm sure this you will handle with as much care and grace, and success."

      Aragorn smiled a little, "He once said something like that to me."

      The two men looked up at the barn, from which Mattheas had emerged, wearing his coat.  He walked towards them with his young head held high, his strides wide and sure.  

      "Good morning," he said, nodding to them regally.

      "Mattheas," Aragorn greeted, nodding back.  Rosio took this as an opportune time to leave.  Murmuring his excuses, he walked away.

      Mattheas glanced at the captain suspiciously, then looked at Aragorn with some hesitation.  His burning eyes bored through Aragorn's, searching the King's face.  He was inhumanly, beyond- elfishly, unearthly perceptive.

      "Papa has returned from his hunt?" he asked, warily sitting beside Aragorn.

      "Yes," Aragorn replied, watching the young boy who had kept his distance.

      "I clean the game everyday," Mattheas said, "And Adrianna cooks.  Mama… she used to spend the mornings in her cabin, and she would work.  Her pieces are the best in the land."

      "I assumed as much," Aragorn said, letting the young boy rant.

      ~Adrianna has taken a liking to one of your soldiers,~ Mattheas said, shifting topics as he shifted to Elvish, watching Aragorn's face closely, ~Though he looks at her as if she would suddenly sprout three heads and kill him.~

      ~He has a suspicious nature,~ Aragorn affirmed.

      "I wondered why you looked so amused when I spoke to father in this tongue," Mattheas said, shifting languages again, "Why does my father know Elvish? Why do you? Why does he go by different names? What does my father have to do with the King?"

      "We both share a past with the Elves," replied Aragorn cautiously, "The story is very long, one day we will find the time to speak of it."

      _One day, you'll know how much I owe you_, Aragorn promised silently, _One day, you will know how much I've taken from you and your sister.  These debts I hope I will be able to repay…_

      The boy was patient enough to let it rest.  He gathered his feet, and rose to do his chores.

      Aragorn grabbed his farm, willing him to stay for a moment.

      "I have something to tell you," Aragorn said quietly.

      --

      "You needn't," Mattheas said levelly, "I know it already.  I've known for awhile."

      Aragorn looked at him intently, said nothing.

      "You shouldn't have to fear for us," Mattheas said, his fierce pride and strength reminding Aragorn of Legolas's, "I am strong, as is Adrianna.  And we can look after each other."

      Aragorn released his arm, and let him attend to his chores.  The son was much like his father Legolas in this respect as well; both hid from his pain and fragility through his work, as if his pains would forget him, if he forgot them.

* * *

      The blood had unmasked him.  It's as if the assuring lies where the fragile strings that held the façade together.  Time was moving more quickly now, his passing more sure and swift.

      Aragorn watched as Legolas caught his breath after a coughing fit.  He dreaded the time when at last his friend would have no breath to catch, and those burning eyes would close at last…

      "Don't look at me like that," Legolas chastised him, a smile teasing his lips.  Swathed in blankets upon his bed, he was pallid and thin, and… and… _wasting away_.  He leaned against the pillows upon the headrest, looking as if he would fall without their support, his shoulders sagging.  But his eyes still held a mischievous fire, and Aragorn clung to it like a man in a desert savoring the last drops of the rain.

      "I never thought you would…" Aragorn bit back the word _die_, "… pass… before I."

      Legolas smiled.  "Neither did I.  This is a strange life indeed."

      Aragorn let the silence hang for a moment, weighing his words.  "When you were practically immortal, how were you able to cope with the knowledge that you would outlive us all, that you would see us all die, and that you would be the only one left? This… loss is acute."

      "I've lived thousands of years," Legolas replied thoughtfully, "A lot of people have come and have gone, passing me by, leaving me.  To have such an immortality was a blessing, and a curse.  Either way, it was a reality I could not escape.  I made new friends since, and if they died, I could make others."

      "But people are not replaceable," Aragorn pointed out.

      "I never replaced anyone," Legolas said, "I let their memories enrich me.  I let them live through me."

      --

      Aragorn stared at his friend, nodded in understanding.

      --

      "Estel…" Legolas mused, cleared his throat, "You could not have been given a better name.  Or perhaps… no man could have given that name a better truth, than you."

      Aragorn's brows furrowed in confusion, and he was about to ask what Legolas meant when Mattheas appeared by the door of the room.

      ~How are you feeling, Papa?~ he asked quietly.

      Legolas flashed his son a smile, and the boy stepped forward.

      ~Adrianna cooked,~ Mattheas said, ~She will bring your food here, since you should not be getting up.~

      Legolas opened his mouth to say something, and instead turned his head away from his son and coughed into his hand.  It racked him, and shook him as if it would finish him, and Mattheas stood by uncertainly, glancing towards Aragorn for a course of action that he could not provide.

      After a few moments, Legolas leaned his head back against the pillows, catching his breath and closing his eyes.  Blood streaked his hands, and an unnoticed stream trailed down the side of his mouth.

      "Papa…" Mattheas whispered uncertainly.

      Legolas tried to calm him, making placating gestures with his hands, as if he could not find his voice.  But he did not even regain his wind before another fit shook him, and it seemed to go on for a minor eternity.

      Suddenly afraid, Mattheas took a step back, his usually brave, sure eyes clouding.  He watched his father struggle for his life, the dry coughs draining him, his blood running.  At last he stilled again, and leaned his head against the pillows, his eyes clenched tight, his mouth open and gasping for air.

      Aragorn felt as if his own heart was pounding wildly, as if the room was getting smaller, as if he himself did not have enough air to breathe.  This was too much.  This was not the way of things.  This was like a punishment for a man who deserved only rewards.  It did not make sense.  Aragorn's helplessness and longing was so potent that it filled the room, stifled it.  He wanted to leave; he did not want Legolas to feel such enormous regret and loss in his last moments and yet his feet were mounted on the ground.

      "Papa," Mattheas said, breaking the silence that was peppered only by his father's ragged breathing, "Let me hold you."

      Legolas's breath caught, and he opened his eyes, looking at his son with such fierce longing.  "You musn't."

      "I give you my word I will not get sick," Mattheas promised, his eyes afire, "If you wish, I will bathe right after, to be rid of the infection.  But let me hold you."

      Legolas's eyes glistened, "Only if you bathe right after—"

      Mattheas did not even wait for his father to finish.  He stepped forward and encased his father in a hug.  Aragorn watched as Legolas held fast to his son, his arms encircling the young boy, smelling his hair, closing his eyes in such great appreciation.  Crystal tears, sparkling like the jewels that they were, leaked from the corner of his closed eyes, and father and son held each other for a minor eternity.

      "Not fair!" Adrianna's voice came from the door.  Hurriedly, she passed the steaming broth she was holding to Aragorn's hands, and jumped into the bed and let her short arms encircle her family.  Legolas let out a short laugh, bringing his children against him in great delight.  

      The two children languished in their father's embrace, and Aragorn's heart warmed as he watched them.  Though it would surely not last for long, it had already made an imprint in eternity.  The memory had burned into Aragorn's heart, and surely the children's, and it filled them, _enriched_ them.  Legolas had given up his life, yes, but not his immortality.

      Legolas pursed his lips and turned his head away from his children, giving them a tight squeeze before he released them.  His breath caught, and Aragorn knew the time was up.

      Putting the broth down on an old night table, Aragorn stepped forward and pulled the children away, who hesitantly let him.  It was only then that Legolas let his body be taken over by another shattering coughing fit.

      "Bath," he said to his children between coughs.

      Adrianna scrunched her nose, sniffed away her tears, "No one said anything about a bath."

      "Come along," Mattheas said in consternation, rolling his eyes, which were still watery, although he forced his voice to be strong.  He took his younger sister by the forearm and pulled her out of the room with him.

      Aragorn settled on the old chair, and pulled it closer to the bed as he let Legolas recover from the fit.

      "What?' Legolas asked him wearily, tired eyes still teasing, "You want to hug me as well?"

      "Yes," Aragorn said with a smile, his eyes glistening, "But I don't want to take a bath."

      "Well then you won't get one," Legolas said, grinning.

      The two friends fell into a comfortable silence, that was only filled by Legolas's hitched breathing.

      "You fill me with hope, Aragorn," Legolas said softly, "This time, you are not late in coming at all."

      "Late?" Aragorn inquired.

      "At first, I did not want to fall beneath your watchful, mourning eyes," Legolas said, "But then you came, and I'm leaving, and… things feel as if they are falling into place."

      "I don't understand," Aragorn admitted.

      "You've come in good time.  Now I can pass, knowing that my children will not only be taken care of," said Legolas, "but be looked after by the best household in all the kingdoms.  Your household.  Your hands, where they can only grow to be as good as you."

      "You give me too much credit," Aragorn said, wincing, "Legolas… If I could give you my life…"

      "I do not need you to die for me," Legolas told him, "I need you to live for me.  Look after my children."

      "I've robbed them of their father," Aragorn said bitterly, "Why must things come to pass this way?"

      "You live in these regrets which you do not deserve, my friend," Legolas coughed, "Do not.  It's not you.  You burn in the dark, Aragorn.  You shine like a beacon.  You always have.  You are a King, more than your blood, more than your name.  It is your spirit.  You have graced the land with it, as if it was so easy, as if it simply overflowed.  You have shared it with me, and when I gave you my life, it was only because you deserved nothing less.  Give some of that light to my children."

      Aragorn did not know what to say to that.

      "On your way home to Gondor," Legolas murmured, his eyes starting to cloud, "pass by the grave to the Lunaris, and lay upon them a lavender bloom from my yard of flowers.  It is a promise I never found the time to redeem… Do you know where this grave is?"

      "No," replied Aragorn, "But I have a man in my squad who most certainly does.  I will redeem your word for you."  

      _And I will be a father to your children for you_, Aragorn promised silently, _I will tell them stories at night that stirred their blood.  They will never find me lacking.  Because you live in me._

      "Thank you," Legolas whispered.

      "Good night, my friend," Aragorn said to him, as he fell to a deep sleep.

      "Thank you," Legolas said again, and it was the last thing that he would ever say.

* * *

      He fell into a deep sleep from which he never woke.  Through the night and to the next day, he slept.  His coughing had eased, as if his body no longer had the strength to even try and rid itself of its demons.  By the afternoon, his breath gradually slowed, until there was none.

      His chest rose, then fell, and stilled completely, just as the storm clouds slipped from the horizon.  The rains have stopped, clearing the darkness just long enough to show a wild sunset through his bedroom window, its tempestuous streaks of red, gold, amber and violet streaking across the skies as it boldly defied the end of the day, sinking beyond the horizon over the thrashing sea.

* * *

      The children said that surely, their Papa would want to be buried next to their mother, near the back of the house.  Aragorn could not deny them, nor Legolas, this wish.  His friend had said that _all of _his _longings have come to rest here_, and therefore, so too, shall his body.

      They laid him to the ground, and spent the night in the house.  By the next morning, bearing the purple flowers, Aragorn had asked Diego to lead the way towards the grave of the Lunaris.

      "But sire," he had said, "the spirits there would hardly welcome a Lumenari."

      "Something tells me," Aragorn said to him cryptically, "That you would be most welcome this time."

      A few minutes later, he had asked Adrianna with whom she wanted to ride with on their way to their new home, and she said, without a doubt, she wanted to ride with Diego.

      Diego's face had been a mixture of pleasure, flattery, despair and panic.  And yet he assisted her with such care, that Aragorn found himself smiling for the first time since Legolas died, as he watched his friend's daughter charm her way into another heart.

      Mattheas rode with Aragorn, the young boy strong and silent and solitary as he always was, although once in awhile, he would look up at his new guardian and smile tentatively, asking quick questions about horses and arrows, and elves and dwarves, and strange adventures.

      And life moved along as it was wont to, with blood and tears, and laughter, and legends, and memories.

THE END

September 10, 2003

SOME IMPORTANT NOTES:

sorry for any inconsistencies, especially with characterization.  I feared for over-dramatizing, but I did not make the characters say anything that I felt awkward about so I hope you guys didn't mind :) I want to say a big massive thanks to the reviewers.  You're the reason why I want my work to be the best that I can possibly make it :) On the original characters: I took time thinking about their names, because I wanted them to sound as if they were part of this universe.  Also, I introduced an original character who had a romance with Legolas.  I did not delve into how their relationship developed because first, the story was never about that aspect, and romance was not my intended genre.  Secondly, I used it as a literary tool; I wanted us to feel how Aragorn felt in the story, that this woman was a stranger, we just had to take our friend's word that she was a good person.  As for the children, I worked hard in trying to make them likeable, so I hope that came across :) On the title: well the fic is all about hope.  The story began with hope (Legolas's finding a cure for Aragorn) and it ended with hope (Aragorn finding it even in death).  I didn't want to entitle it outwardly as "Hope", so I used "Estel," which means the same. anyway, thanks for your time and I hope this wasn't too bad :) 


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